


Every man

by Yenneffer



Series: Poetry box [5]
Category: KAFKA Franz - Works, The Trial - Franz Kafka
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Death, Der Process, Everyman, Gen, Poetry, The Trial, franz kafka - Freeform, why is there no fandom tag for kafka's trial?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:11:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2439695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenneffer/pseuds/Yenneffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joseph K. dies like every man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every man

**Author's Note:**

> This is weird. Also, who writes fan poetry for The Trial? (I do, apparently.) In my defense: I loved that book. And then I saw a breath-taking theatre performance of it, on the beach at night to boot, and I was in love. And intrigued.  
> This was actually written years ago. I have then posted it on my LJ (sin-snippet) but I have a sinking suspicion LJ is soon going to fall into total oblivion, disappear into the void and the abyss of the old and obsolete in the Internet space, so I decided to post it here as well.

Joseph K. dies like every man.

He dies alive, watching the rising sun

And the disappearing face behind the

Dusty window.

 

His killer is alive too.

He kills and stays alive, cause it’s

Not true that you rip yourself into

pieces with the swift movement of a knife.

Stays whole, watching droplets of

Blood on a cold perfection

Showed on a finite dance of

Body and steel, skin and hardness,

Stopping movements and stillness.

 

Every man dies like K.

Facing fears and regrets

And hundreds and thousands of faces.

Or none at all.

 

Dies, exciting the labyrinths of clouded

streets and steep stairs covered

with dusty remains of words, like

try, manage, all right.

The streets you wander looking for the doors destined for you to cross,

the stairs you crawl up, reaching all

but the last.

 

And then, you listen to the guard standing in front of the doors.

‘I won’t let you pass.’

And you don’t.

You bribe, ask, and plead.

Not enter. Even though the doors are for you

And the guard is as well.

 

It comes to every man.

Or every man comes to it.

Through actions or inactions, everyone tastes

the blade and blood and denial.

**Author's Note:**

> You can always find me at my [tumblr](http://heathleaves.tumblr.com).


End file.
